


Breaking Bad Fic: Killing Time (Just Don't Leave), Parts 5-6

by readishmael



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Domination/submission, Dubious Consent, Implied Drug Use, M/M, implied self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readishmael/pseuds/readishmael





	Breaking Bad Fic: Killing Time (Just Don't Leave), Parts 5-6

_**Breaking Bad Fic: Killing Time (Just Don't Leave), Parts 5-6**_  
See [Parts 1-2](http://readishmael.livejournal.com/4604.html) for warnings and other info.

[Parts 3-4](http://readishmael.livejournal.com/4849.html).

Walt opened the door to his apartment when he heard Jesse knock, and gestured impatiently for him to come inside.

“Hello to you, too,” Jesse greeted dryly. Walt closed the door and reached out unconsciously to put a guiding hand on Jesse’s back as they walked toward the couch.

Jesse flinched and drew in a quick, hissing breath as soon as Walt touched him. Stunned, Walt withdrew his hand. Jesse immediately tried to explain.

“I’m still kinda sore,” he offered with an apologetic shrug. Walt frowned, not understanding.

“From the other day,” Jesse went on, evidently recognizing his confusion. Walt shook his head helplessly; he had no idea what Jesse was talking about, and he felt a thin thread of unease at knowing that Jesse apparently thought he should.

“You, uh...” Jesse gestured vaguely, then shrugged and came out with it: “I hit the wall kind of hard.”

At that, comprehension struck Walt so powerfully that it was like a physical blow, driving him back a step and leaving him dazed. He took a second to recover, and then directed Jesse to turn around so he could take a look. Jesse did as he was told, and Walt swallowed hard, filled with a vague, thoughtless sense of foreboding—a feeling he associated with those unwelcome fantasies that had only grown more frequent since he and Jesse had started sleeping together. His hands were shaking when he reached out to lift Jesse's shirt up in back.

He was so convinced that he was going to see a stark mass of black and purple across Jesse’s shoulder blades that he had to blink a few times before he could be sure that there was actually nothing there. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he’d been holding, let Jesse’s shirt drop back down, and took a step back. Jesse turned to face him.

“It’s not that bad; I coulda told you.”

“But it hurts?”

“Well, yeah, a little.” The last two words came out in a tone Walt didn't trust.

“What about...” He stopped, and took a deep breath while he tried to formulate his question. “Are you sore anywhere else?”

“Like where?”

“Anywhere. How about...uh...” He raised his hands, just to lower them again without even a vague gesture.

Thankfully, Jesse caught on while Walt was still trying to manufacture some alternative to a direct question. “Oh! Um...not anymore.”

“No, uh, bleeding or anything?”

“No. I mean, not that I...no.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath, held it for a second, let it out. “Okay, that’s good.”

“But, uh...” Despite the hesitation in Jesse's voice, there was something sharp in his face.

“What?” Walt asked, a little more aggressively than he’d wanted.

“There’s some bruises. Where, uh, your hands...” He trailed off, still watching Walt's face intently.

“Let me see.”

“Really, Mr. White, it’s not...”

“Jesse, _let me see_.”

Jesse heaved a put-upon sigh and undid his pants. He slipped them down his thighs, then lowered his boxers on one side, just enough that Walt could observe the series of dark bruises across his hip – four running down the front, and one larger, uglier one around the back, in the softer flesh at the top swell of his ass. Walt’s eyes widened at the sight, and after a few seconds he realized he'd once again been unwittingly holding his breath—except when he let it out now, it was with a somehow greater relief. A feeling of finally arriving after much anticipation.

But, Jesus, how hard must he have been gripping to leave contusions like that? And Jesse had never voiced a single syllable of complaint.

Fascinated, Walt reached out to trace his finger lightly across the bruises, marveling over his unwitting handiwork, feeling the same sense of wonder with which he had once found himself examining the healing cut on Jesse's leg, except exponentially more acute. _I did that_. _He let me_. The twin thoughts chased each other around his mind, making him dizzy, filling him with a heady, horrified awe that was compounded rather than relieved by the powerful wave of arousal that accompanied it. _I did that_. _He let me._

Struggling to maintain some sense of control, he snapped his eyes shut and took a head-clearing gulp of air. When he’d regained his equilibrium, Walt realized he was on the edge of giving into a sick but compelling urge to press his thumb down into one of the bruises.

He snatched his hand back from Jesse’s hip in something close to panic. Immediately he took a hurried, clumsy step backward, then turned away.

As he heard Jesse zipping his pants back up behind him, Walt took his glasses off, closed his eyes tightly, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His pulse was pounding in his ears, and he took a couple long, slow breaths, in and out, fighting to put himself back in order.

“Mr. White, yo, it’s...it’s not a big deal, seriously,” Jesse said, but the pleading, somehow guilty note in his voice did nothing to alter Walt’s newborn, not-quite-rational conviction that there was something dangerous happening here. Out of nowhere, he'd become aware that he had been swimming in water that was way over his head—a feeling that had become all too familiar in the past several months—and now he found himself flailing wildly in desperation to do something, anything, to get back to where his feet could touch bottom.

He seized upon the first solid, rational thought that came to him to use as a life-preserver, and the words were out of his mouth before he realized he was speaking: “Maybe it would be better if we didn’t do this again.”

He turned back around to face Jesse and gauge his response. The look Jesse gave him was mostly speculative and a little surprised, but underneath that, he thought he saw a flash of hurt. It disappeared almost as soon as Walt spotted it, but he was sure it had been there.

Positive.

Jesse didn’t answer for what felt like a long time. Then he shrugged. “Whatever, man. I didn’t really like it, anyway.”

In an instant, the amorphous, swirling cloud of emotion surrounding Walt collapsed into a single bright red pinpoint. “What did you say?”

Jesse clearly noticed the anger right away, but he stood his ground; the look he gave Walt was openly defiant. “What? You said you didn’t want to do it anymore. I said fine.”

“That’s not what you said.” Walt raised his voice when he saw Jesse roll his eyes. “You could have said that, but you didn’t.”

Jesse met his gaze evenly. “So what? I mean, what do you even care if I liked it, anyway?”

Walt’s composure slipped; he stalked toward Jesse, not sure what he was going to do with him until the moment he found himself taking him roughly by the shoulders and crashing their mouths together.

Jesse made a startled noise and pulled away. “Yo, man, what the hell?”

“Shut up,” Walt answered immediately. He slipped an arm around the small of Jesse's back and pulled him close again.

“What are you doing?” Jesse asked, trying to squirm out of Walt’s grasp, and Walt thought it was odd that Jesse sounded so mild, but he was still too furious to care. That ungrateful little shit.

“I said shut up,” he repeated, practically growling.

Walt moved to kiss Jesse again, but then all of the sudden, out of nowhere, Jesse was laughing, and Walt’s determination vanished in his utter bafflement.

“Christ, dude, I didn’t realize your ego was so fucking fragile,” Jesse said, and offered Walt a smug, derisive, infuriating smirk. Walt wanted to shake him; he had to clamp his arm harder around Jesse’s waist and curl his other hand into a fist to keep himself from doing it.

But then it dawned on him, finally: that maybe, just maybe, Jesse’s words hadn’t been an attack but a deliberate challenge—one he'd unwittingly accepted.

For a moment he waffled, thinking of the bruises, thinking it was all too possible that Jesse had meant what he’d said. But now that the idea had occurred to him the provocation seemed so entirely obvious. What other explanation could there be?

The idea wasn't exactly pleasant—how had Jesse gotten it into his head to try and manipulate him, and more to the point, how had it worked so well? Nonetheless, Walt's anger receded, buried under a thrilling flood of confidence and certitude, and he gave Jesse a smirk of his own. Jesse’s expression of self-satisfaction slipped a little in response, and Walt felt a moment of victory.

He pulled his arm back from Jesse’s waist to grip him by the shoulders and turn him around. “Bedroom,” he ordered. “Now.”

Jesse gave an easy, amused snort. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Walt gave him a little push, low on his back, mindful of Jesse’s soreness, but it wasn’t necessary; Jesse marched into the bedroom without hesitation.

As soon as they were over the threshold, Walt pulled Jesse’s shirt up and over his head. Jesse took over before he could get tangled in it, stripped it off and dropped it to the floor. That done, Walt shoved Jesse forcefully back onto the bed, relishing his little squawk of surprise.

“Pants off.” He hung back, waiting for Jesse to obey. Jesse muttered an annoyed _Jesus Christ_ , but did as he was told. He paused before stripping off his boxers, and gave Walt a questioning look. Walt nodded, and Jesse took them off, too. Then he lay back and waited.

Walt took a moment to appreciate it – not the sight so much as the circumstance. Then he kicked off his own shoes and climbed up onto the bed, on top of Jesse, and kissed him.

Jesse returned the kiss with more enthusiasm than Walt had ever felt from him before, opening his mouth to him eagerly, and he immediately started tugging Walt’s shirt out of his pants. Walt broke the kiss to make a forbidding noise.

“No hands.”

Jesse gave him a look that said _You have got to be fucking kidding me_ so clearly that Walt almost laughed. He suppressed it, and met Jesse’s incredulity with sternness instead. “I mean it.”

Jesse answered with a half-irritated, half-amused shake of his head, and he pointedly and exaggeratedly pinned his arms down at his sides. Once he had, Walt went back to work, pressing one brief kiss to Jesse’s lips before working his way downward, mouthing along his jaw, grazing his teeth over his neck, laving his tongue over one nipple, and finally finding himself crouched over Jesse’s hips, once again regarding the bruises there with rapt attention.

His breath ghosted over Jesse’s growing erection, and Jesse made a small noise of frustration. Walt ignored him, still mesmerized. After a moment, he shook himself out of his daze, but he paused a moment longer. Then he kissed each bruise softly, moving up along the left side and then down along the right.

When he was done, he hauled himself up off the bed, and told Jesse to turn over.

While Jesse followed instructions, Walt moved to the nightstand and pulled a small squeeze bottle of lube out of the drawer. Jesse saw it and barked a small laugh. “When did you get that?”

“Shut up and be grateful.” Jesse laughed again, but grew quiet as soon as Walt was back at the end of the bed.

“Up on your knees.” Once more, Jesse obeyed him without any hesitation, and Walt flushed, feeling the blood rushing to his groin.

He poured some lube into his hand and coated his fingers. Then, taking special pains to be as gentle as possible, he started working one finger into Jesse.

Jesse tensed immediately, then slowly started to relax, without any coaxing from Walt. After a short while, it got easier, but he didn’t try to add another finger right away. Instead, he pushed in further and crooked his finger a little, and was rewarded with a small gasp. He did it again, smiling to himself at Jesse’s choked _fuck_.

He pulled his finger back, thrust it in and out faster, not quite deep enough to brush Jesse’s prostate again, until Jesse started to push back against his hand. Walt suppressed a moan at the sight. His own cock was stiff and aching, leaving a damp spot in the front of his briefs, and he used his free hand to undo his pants and relieve some of the pressure.

He started with the second finger, listening intently to Jesse’s harsh breathing. He took another opportunity to press into that spot that made Jesse cry out, then pulled back, scissored his fingers, opening Jesse up, exulting in each quiet moan and backwards thrust of his hips.

When he tried for the third, Jesse inhaled sharply between his teeth and froze. Walt eased it in slowly, letting Jesse adjust, and when he was deep enough, he crooked his fingers again. Jesse whined high in his throat, and Walt went to work on him in earnest, thrusting in forcefully and hitting Jesse’s prostate on almost every try.

Jesse pushed back against him with increasing desperation, panting and groaning, and Walt kept it going, altering his pace, then the angle, occasionally twisting his hand a little, until Jesse was reduced to making a pitiful mewling sound that made Walt’s heart race and his cock throb painfully in his pants. He could feel Jesse nearing the edge. He briefly considered just letting him come, wondering if that would prove the point just as well, wondering also if he should take the opportunity while he knew he had it. But he decided against it, and when Jesse started to babble _shit, shit, oh shit_ , Walt finally stopped and withdrew his hand. Jesse made a loud noise of complaint that made Walt grin. He quickly stripped his clothes off, groaning with relief when his erection was freed.

He coated himself with a generous amount of lube and positioned himself behind and over Jesse, settling his weight on his knees and propping himself up on his hands. He started to push in slowly, but as soon as he entered him, Jesse pushed back hard, and Walt sunk in the rest of the way. They moaned in unison.

Walt set a slow, deliberate pace, searching for the right angle to drive Jesse crazy. It wasn’t long before he found it, and after a couple thrusts Jesse cried out softly and started to reach underneath himself to grasp his cock. Walt swatted the hand away, nearly losing his balance and collapsing on top of Jesse in the process.

“No hands, I said,” he scolded. Jesse sobbed, and thrust back hard.

“Please.” He repeated it, again and then again, until it became a litany. Walt moved faster, gritting his teeth and clinging to the little control he had left. He was almost there.

“Come on, Jesse,” he urged, and then couldn’t shut himself up: “Come on, come on, you can do it, come on, that's it, Jesse, there you go, come on” and when he finally just got to the point and said, “Come for me,” Jesse did with a strangled shout, clenching around him and drawing Walt’s own orgasm from him sooner than he was ready for it.

Walt’s arms threatened to give out on him as he gasped and shuddered, so he pulled out and then away, and flopped over onto his side. Jesse rolled over, too, and they lay facing each other as they both fought to get their breath back. They stayed quiet for a long moment. Then Jesse offered Walt a sweet, guileless, slightly amazed smile.

“Whew,” he said quietly, and Walt laughed with genuine delight. Nearly overcome with sudden affection, he leaned in and kissed the tip of Jesse’s nose, and Jesse grinned happily.

“So...is it safe to say you liked it that time?”

Jesse chuffed a small laugh. “Uh, yeah. I’d say so.”

Walt favored him with a warm smile. “I’m glad.”

“What, you’re not gonna celebrate?”

“Nope. Too tired.” They grinned at each other some more, and Walt was starting to feel more than a little foolish, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “You can smoke in here if you want,” he offered.

“Really?”

“Sure.” He reached for the empty water glass on his nightstand and passed it over to Jesse. “Just don’t get any ashes on the bed.”

“Oh, no, of course not, wouldn’t dream of it.” With effort, he pulled himself up so he could snatch his jeans off the floor and dig his cigarettes out. Then he lay back, propped against the headboard, and after a moment Walt scooted over to join him.

“So, Mr. Wizard,” Jesse started, and waited until he had Walt’s attention before going on. “Why exactly do people crave a smoke so much after they get laid?”

Walt eyed him suspiciously. “Are you really asking?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Why not? You suddenly have an interest in biochemistry?”

“Screw you. I was just curious.”

Walt doubted it, but he saw the question as the kind gesture it was, and he answered it. “It’s simple, really. Sex, like exercise, makes you metabolize nicotine faster, which means the levels of nicotine in the brain are much lower when you’re done. That cues the craving.”

Jesse gave him a smile that was equal parts wry and fond...and under them both, somehow proud of himself. Once Walt recognized the expression, which he'd had occasion to glimpse only a handful of times, he realized that it had been there for a while.

“Wow. Fascinating, yo,” Jesse drawled.

“Hey, you asked.” He reached out to tussle Jesse’s hair. They were quiet until Jesse was finished with his cigarette.

They both knew that Jesse was going to stay without having to talk about it. They took turns cleaning themselves up, and Walt changed the sheets. When they were ready to crawl back into bed, Jesse picked up his boxers and started to slip them back on.

“Leave them off,” Walt told him.

“What? Why?”

“Because I said so.” He smiled to let Jesse know he was teasing, and Jesse rolled his eyes. Walt continued: “I just thought it might help us get over any...residual awkwardness. But it’s up to you.”

Jesse considered for a minute, then shrugged, and dropped the underwear to the floor again.

They both climbed into the bed and lay down, and Walt shut off the lamp. His internal debate about whether to pull Jesse closer was resolved when Jesse turned away from him and curled up into a ball. Walt stayed on his back and went quickly to sleep.

He woke in the morning to find himself on his side, with Jesse facing him, curled in close with his head tucked under Walt’s chin. Walt watched him for a while, appraisingly, and then snaked an arm around him to run his hand over the long planes of his back, intrigued by the smooth softness of his skin and the firmness of the muscle beneath it.

Forgetting how his whole encounter with Jesse yesterday had gotten started, he pressed his fingers too firmly into a spot just south of that ridiculous skull tattoo. He realized Jesse was awake when he heard him voice a reproachful “ow.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Walt soothed absently, and, after a moment of hesitation, briefly pressed his lips to Jesse’s freckled shoulder. Jesse pulled his head back to regard Walt with bleary eyes.

“Is it morning?”

“Yeah. How’d you sleep?”

“Really good. Way too good to get up right now.”

Walt smiled. “I have to leave for the lab in about an hour. You want some breakfast?”

“Yeah, that’d be awesome.” But when Walt started to pull away, Jesse made a small noise of protest. He snuggled up close to Walt, insinuating one of his legs between Walt’s and wrapping his arms around his back.

As he returned Jesse’s embrace and kissed him, Walt experienced a moment of disconcerting unreality. He let the unease fade from his mind, though, as Jesse kissed back eagerly, shifting in a way that brushed their still-soft cocks against each other. Jesse made a startled sound of pleasure and thrust his hips a little, looking to repeat the sensation. He opened his mouth to Walt’s tongue, and started a gentle, lazy rocking motion that soon had him fully hard and leaking clear precome against Walt's stomach.

Walt made a deliberate exploration of Jesse’s mouth and enjoyed the little shocks of pleasure when Jesse moved against him, but his cock only stirred a little. After a while Jesse noticed, and he looked at him with a concern that was actually endearing instead of humiliating. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just...not gonna happen.” The admission was easier than he would have expected.

Understanding dawned in Jesse’s eyes, and Walt caught him smothering a grin, but he just said, “Oh.”

“ _Oh_? That's it? No comment about how incredibly old I am?”

“Nah. Too easy.” Jesse gave him a devilish little smile, and Walt gave him an exaggerated look of disapproval and swatted him lightly on the ass—and immediately couldn't believe that that had actually happened. It made him feel sheepish in a way he'd miraculously avoided thus far.

“Should I, uh...?” Jesse asked, getting serious again. “I mean, if you’re not gonna get anything out of it...” He started to disengage, and Walt held him in place.

“No. Don’t stop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Do it.” He dropped his voice to a low whisper, directed right into Jesse’s ear. “Keep going. Make yourself come. I want you to.”

Jesse groaned, and the initial resumption of his thrusts seemed like a totally involuntary reaction. Then he reestablished a rhythm, rubbing and grinding against Walt. Walt affixed his mouth to Jesse’s neck at the pulse point and listened as Jesse’s panting got more and more urgent. When Jesse started to moan with every jerk of his hips, Walt moved his mouth back to his ear.

“That’s it, that’s good, that’s good, come on.”

Jesse whimpered, his hips spasming erratically, and he choked out, “Oh fuck, I’m...” and then Walt felt him spilling, hot and wet, all over both of them.

Walt stroked Jesse’s back idly while he recovered, his breath warm against Walt’s collarbone, and he was overtaken by a sudden swell of emotion. He dropped his eyes down to the bruises on Jesse’s backside, and thought again, now with simple amazement, _I did that_. _He let me_. And now here they were with their limbs all tangled together, as Jesse finally got his breath back and dropped a brief, grateful kiss onto Walt’s chest.

Nothing about this made any sense.

But Walt had a schedule to keep at the lab, and there was no time to sit and contemplate how this had all happened. He gently pushed Jesse off of him.

“I’m going to take a shower. You need to be ready to get in there when I’m done, so don’t fall asleep. When you’re out of the shower, I’ll have breakfast ready.”

Jesse made an inarticulate noise of assent, and Walt went about getting ready for work. When it was his turn, Jesse got himself into the shower without having to be woken up again. Later, when he came out to find Walt setting an omelet on the table for him, he gave a brief thanks and plowed right into it.

They ate in a comfortable silence. When Jesse was done, Walt went with him to the door, and after a moment of nervous uncertainty, gave him a quick kiss goodbye.

After Jesse had gone, Walt paused, absently contemplating the empty space where his partner had just been. Then he remembered what time it was. He shook himself out of his stupor and finished getting ready for work.  


***********************************************************************  
 

Jesse didn’t know how much longer he could take this.

For the last couple days he’d been trying to convince himself that he was overreacting, if not outright losing his mind.

For weeks now, Mr. White had been nothing but nice to him. It kind of confused him, really, but it was pretty great, and, unexpectedly, the rest of their whole arrangement was getting easier, too.

He was pretty much done being weirded out about letting another dude fuck him, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone (“anyone” in this case mostly meaning Badger and Skinny Pete, whom he'd hardly seen since they'd started working the steps), and he was mostly done being weirded out by the fact that that other dude was Mr. White. He could look at him naked now without freaking out, and although it wasn't exactly the most pleasant image, he was starting to get a little thrill out of seeing Mr. White aroused – a thrill that was part prideful satisfaction and part excitement.

He wasn’t quite done being weirded out by the thought of touching Mr. White yet, really, but for the most part he didn't have to. When Jesse’d realized that, he'd gone through his memories of each encounter just to make sure, and he’d found he could practically count the number of times he’d actually reached out and put his hands on Mr. White on one hand. Even the few times he'd sucked his cock had been exactly like the first time, just holding still while Mr. White did all the work. That Mr. White apparently didn’t care or expect otherwise—had in fact not-terribly-gently rebuffed Jesse during one of those blowjobs, when Jesse had tried to be a bit more proactive—was simultaneously a relief and a source of barely-conscious agitation.

What was bothering him most at this point, really, was how easy it was becoming to let Mr. White call all the shots, and how he was more and more getting off on Mr. White’s praise. It kind of freaked him out, the way he’d taken to jerking off, whenever he was particularly bored, to memories of hearing _good, Jesse, that’s good._

He wasn’t an idiot, though, and most of the time he regarded the fact that it had turned out that he actually kind of    
_liked_   
having sex with Mr. White as the lucky break that it was. But he hadn't forgotten yet that the sex hadn’t been the point. This was supposed to be his distraction, for fuck’s sake, so that when Mr. White said    
_stay_   
he could feel good about it, and when Mr. White said    
_wait_   
he didn’t have to think about what they were waiting    
_for_   
, or how they’d gotten into this situation in the first place. 

Instead, Jesse was still waiting—except now it was just for Mr. White to fuck him. Sex with Mr. White had somehow become the center of his whole existence.

A few days ago, Mr. White had stopped by after work on one of the nights when he was due to have dinner with his family, and Jesse had been expecting another quickie against the wall—something so Mr. White could get his rocks off and then put Jesse out of his mind while he was with his wife (or ex-wife, or whatever the fuck she was, who cared) and kids. Mr. White had called ahead, and said when he’d be over – said _Be ready_.

Jesse hadn’t known exactly how to take that, and after a long internal debate over whether Mr. White had been speaking generally or had actually been implying something specific, he’d prepped himself – leaned forward over the counter in the bathroom and fingered his asshole. It had been kind of hard to do, and it hadn’t felt like it did when Mr. White did it, but he’d done it, anyway, just in case it was what Mr. White wanted. And after all, it could only make things easier for himself.

But Mr. White had surprised him. When he’d shown up, he’d brought dinner, and he’d said he’d taken a rain check with his family and thought that he and Jesse could spend the night together. And, horrifyingly, Jesse had suddenly found himself on the verge of tears.

He was reasonably sure now that Mr. White’s wife-or-whatever had canceled on him and not the other way around, and that Mr. White had been trying to take credit for something he hadn’t really had a goddamn thing to do with, and while that made Jesse feel a little bit cheated, it was really his own stupid fucking gratitude that had him so on edge.

(They’d made out on the couch for a while, and Jesse’d asked, just because the answer would make him feel good, if Mr. White was really choosing to stay with him instead of visiting with his family. Mr. White had said    
_of course_   
and    
_I missed you_   
and    
_I want you,_   
and   
  
so Jesse’d rewarded him by decisively stripping them both naked and then climbing into Mr. White’s lap and sinking himself down on his cock. Mr. White had looked amazed—almost awed—and Jesse’d blushed and told him the truth:    
_You said to be ready_   
. So Mr. White had wrapped his arms around him, pulled him close and stroked his back, and they’d taken their time, chest-to-chest, rocking together. Mr. White had talked to him the whole time, embarrassing things that made him shiver—how good Jesse felt, how much he looked forward to being with him, and, again and again, how much it turned him on that Jesse had been ready and waiting for him—and hadn't tried to make Jesse reciprocate. And for the first time ever, he'd wrapped his hand around Jesse's cock and stroked him steadily; Jesse had actually come twice before it was over, and eventually he'd had to bury his face in Mr. White’s neck and force himself not to cry.)

It wasn’t fucking fair. It wasn’t fair that this was all he had going on right now, and it wasn’t fair that he had to be so fucking grateful for it. It wasn’t fair that he had to wonder if maybe he was actually getting more out of this than Mr. White, in spite of everything he’d given—and what would that mean, and would things have to change, and would things have to stop, and what the fuck was he supposed to do if they did?

So he was stuck waiting for all that, too. And he had never really been very good at waiting.

Jesse sighed, and raised his fist to knock on the door he’d been pacing back and forth in front of for the past few minutes...but before he could, Mr. White opened it.

“What the hell are you doing out there? Did you forget how to open a door? Get in here.”

Jesse walked into the apartment and Mr. White closed the door behind him. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“You were thinking. Of course. I should have known.”

Before Jesse had a chance to think up a proper rejoinder, Mr. White had him pushed back against the door, and then he couldn’t reply at all, because Mr. White slipped his tongue into his mouth.

Jesse melted into the kiss in an instant, his anxiety disappearing like it always seemed to do when Mr. White was this close and he didn’t have to think anymore.

After a few moments, Mr. White took a step back, pulling Jesse with him so they didn’t have to break the kiss. They stumbled their way into the bedroom, and Mr. White immediately pushed Jesse onto the bed and climbed on top of him.

Jesse closed his eyes as Mr. White slid his hand over his ribs. He bit his lip and basked in the bittersweet, melancholy pleasure he got from Mr. White’s familiar weight and warmth and smell, the overwhelming and all-too-fleeting sense of safety and comfort and _home_ that made him confused and aroused and more deeply lonely than ever.

The feeling didn’t last long; it never did. Mr. White lifted himself back off of Jesse to strip them both, and the strange complex of emotions dissolved, leaving only the arousal behind. Jesse latched onto it, and felt it grow sharp edges as things progressed and Mr. White’s fingers worked inside him.

Mr. White withdrew his hand once Jesse’s thrusts back onto the intruding digits became insistent, and got himself ready and lined up to enter Jesse. Then he stopped.

“Ask me, Jesse. Say it.”

Jesse felt a spark of annoyance, and he glared. “No way.”

Mr. White smiled, like he thought Jesse was kidding or like it didn’t matter either way, and the annoyance got stronger. For a moment Jesse considered pushing Mr. White off of him and bailing, and imagined with real satisfaction making Mr. White suffer through a serious case of blue balls. But then Mr. White put his weight on one hand so he could lift the other and brush his thumb across Jesse’s cheek, and Jesse’s breath piled up in his chest and he gave in: “Fuck me.”

There was a feeling of relief—which Jesse had so far consistently refused to examine too closely—when Mr. White pushed into him. Together they found an angle and a pace that had both of them groaning and Jesse digging his short, ragged nails into Mr. White’s back.

Mr. White started to move faster, brushing against Jesse’s prostate with every thrust, and Jesse arched his back and reached for his cock. Mr. White stopped him with a teasing, warning sound in his ear. Jesse whined and dug his fingers into the blanket, more pleased and excited than actually frustrated—and more than a little grossed out at himself.

Jesse pushed the disgust away, rolled his hips and tried to focus on what was happening. But it quickly became clear that Mr. White was approaching the edge, too soon for Jesse to catch up. His movements became frantic, and then his whole body stiffened and he came.

Right away, Mr. White rolled off of Jesse and pressed in close to his side, breathing harshly in that way that made Jesse nervous even without the coughing, no matter what Mr. White said his doctors had told him. He stroked his hand over Jesse’s chest and circled each nipple with his finger, brushed his mouth over Jesse’s ear and temple, and scrubbed his goatee along his jaw. When he got his breath back, he spoke.

“Finish yourself off for me.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Come on.”

“Seriously?”

“What? Is it too much work for you?”

“Screw you.”

Mr. White chuckled in his ear, and Jesse’s exasperation bloomed into resentment. He heaved an aggravated sigh and wrapped his hand around his cock.

“There you go, Jesse. Good.” He kept his face buried against the side of Jesse’s head.

Jesse gritted his teeth. It would be one thing if Mr. White was actually watching. It would have been weird and probably kind of embarrassing, but it actually would have made him feel less self-conscious than this, jerking off while Mr. White mildly whispered totally non-sexual things to him, _come on_ and _that’s it_ and _that’s good_ and _good job_ –like Jesse still didn’t want to admit he’d done more than once in the past couple weeks, except with Mr. White actually here. It felt...inappropriate. Worse, it kind of felt like Mr. White was making fun of him.

That didn’t stop him from coming so hard his vision whited out as Mr. White said _good, Jesse, that’s good, come on_.

He bolted up almost as soon as he was finished and turned his back to Mr. White, sliding to the edge of the bed and dropping his feet to the floor. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the nightstand and started to wipe himself off, doing a half-assed job, in far too much of a rush to be thorough. He didn’t know how it was possible to be this goddamned furious while he was still coming down from what was, he could acknowledge, a really fucking awesome orgasm, but he needed to get dressed and get out of this apartment _right now_ , before he said or did something stupid.

He felt Mr. White reach out and touch his back.

“Hey. What’s your hurry, son?” There was nothing in his tone but curiosity and mild concern.

 _Don’t call me that_.

When Mr. White jerked his hand away, Jesse realized he’d said it out loud, and there were a few seconds of awkward silence before he decided that he should try to ease the sting of his outburst if he could. “Sorry, it’s just...I mean, don’t you think it’s kinda messed up?”

There was a smile in Mr. White’s voice when he answered. “All of this is kinda messed up.”

“Whatever.” He reached for more tissues.

“Jesse.” A pause, while Jesse vowed that he wasn’t going to respond. “ _Jesse_.” Then: “Goddammit, Jesse, answer me.”

“What?!”

“ _What_? What the hell's the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Screw you, man. I don’t have to talk to you.”

“Oh, that’s great, Jesse. Just great. Really mature.”

“And why does it gotta to be that I got some kinda problem, huh? You leave right after half the time. What, I ain’t allowed to do the same thing?”

“Is that what you’re mad about? Huh? You want to cuddle more often?”

“I...” He forced himself to take a big breath, and turned around to face Mr. White again. “No.”

“So tell me.” And somehow, he was still more concerned than angry.

Jesse sighed and rubbed his eye. “It’s just...I mean, why do you gotta say all that shit?”

“What shit?”

“All that 'good job' shit. Seriously, yo, what the hell am I doing that’s so good? I’m not doing anything.” He made a frustrated noise, and raised his voice. “I’m not _doing_. _Anything_. Nothing. Except let you fuck me and come when you tell me to.”

Mr. White looked completely dumbstruck. He opened his mouth and nothing came out, and Jesse started to feel kind of bad. Then Mr. White’s expression hardened.

“You get off on it.” He locked his furious eyes on Jesse’s. “I do it, you imbecile, because _you like it_.”

Jesse dropped his eyes.

“So if you think it’s 'messed up,' or whatever the hell it is you’re complaining about, that’s on _you_ , Jesse, not me. And if you want me to stop doing something, whether because you don’t like it, or because you want to _pretend_ you don’t like it, why don't you just grow the fuck up and tell me?” He shook his head disgustedly.  “But I guess that’s expecting too much from you, right?”

“Just tell you? And what, expect you to listen? Yo, Mr. White, I’m not an idiot.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Why are you acting like you’re some kind of victim, here? All of this has been because you wanted it.”

Jesse voiced a bitter laugh. “Right. ’Cuz I was _begging_ to suck your cock. I was begging you to fuck me.”

“You _did_.”

“You made me!”

“Let’s not forget who started this, Jesse. I didn’t ask for any of it.”

“Then why the fuck do you keep doing it?”

“I said we should stop! You didn’t want to.”

“ _You_ didn’t want to. Bitch! And what if we did, huh? What woulda happened then?”

“What?”

“Once the idea got in your head, you didn’t wanna be around me anymore unless we were fucking.”

“That is such crap, Jesse.”

“No, it’s not. I let you take my pants off and then you starting getting weird every time I touched you.”

“But I’m not the one who was sitting there with a hard-on, was I?”

“Fine, whatever, you’re right, I started it. But you pushed it.”

“So did you.”

“Because you were gonna throw me out! And then what the fuck was I supposed to do? Just sit around by myself all day while I waited to see if you were gonna make me kill somebody else?”

Mr. White just stared at him, stunned and silent. Jesse stared back, pissed off and sorry and desperately hoping that at least now Mr. White would _understand_.

But even if he did, it didn’t change anything, and when Mr. White finally replied, he said, “I don’t really give a shit what you do, Jesse.”

So Jesse stood up and started pulling his clothes on. He thought he heard Mr. White call weakly after him once when he exited the bedroom, but he kept going, wiping roughly at his eyes. He slammed the door when he left.

He’d walked for several blocks before he remembered that he’d left his car at Mr. White’s, and that he had no idea where he was even going. 

  
[Epilogue](http://readishmael.livejournal.com/5374.html)


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